The SGATeam
by Violinboy
Summary: The SGA team becomes more like the ATeam.  Hard to explain, but read and review it please.  T for safety.


The SGA-Team

My usual discalimer, garcon: a half of 'doesn't belong to me' voka, a twist of very complex legal proceedings and another half of 'only the OC's are mine' mixed with creme de methe and crushed ice. Shaken, not stirred, please.

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At around eleven o'clock in the morning, Atlantis standard time, a crack team of troublemakers were relieved of their duties for the duration of several days in (at least to them) a completely unjustified decision. These troublemakers promptly annoyed the bejesus out of Doctor Kavanaugh and escaped from the labs where they had been cornered. Even now, still wanted by the resident authorities, they continually survive as prankers-of-fortune. If you have a problem, if no-one else can help you and if you can find them, maybe you can hire: The SGA-Team.

Mission: Operation Ladyboy

AST: 11:30 am

The Motto: Illegitimis non carborundum

"Run, John, save yourself!" What could have possibly been Dr. Rodney McKay's final words still rang in his ears. Bewildered, he looked round, gasping for air. He recognised the corridor from his numerous previous visits, and he sprinted towards it, hoping for sanctuary from the wrath of his hunters. He collapsed inside the doorway, feeling very much dead in the water. Looking up, he saw Dr. Radek Zelenka turn and say something to him before all he saw was whiteness.

She stared at the control screens, coldly amused eyes tracking the movement of one Lt. Col. (soon to be Airman) John Sheppard. Her hard eyes narrowed as he stopped for a moment, and then ducked through an archway into another corridor. He had run far, and had somehow managed to avoid their sensors on several occasions. However, he was stuck now, the last of a dieing breed of...practical jokers? Or anarchists. She was never sure.

Rodney McKay awoke, his head fuzzy, and discovered that he was in a bare room, lying beneath clean sheets. Restraints pegged his arms to rails besides the bed, and he desperately, frantically looked around the sparsely decorated room for anything to help him escape the terror he knew was forthcoming.

Dr. Kavanaugh stalked the corridors, occasionally stumbling, and cursing several very wide blue streaks. People stared as he passed, but very few sniggered. Only one brave Marine dared to laugh out loud at the scientist, who glared and cursed the aforementioned Marine through several circles of Hell, and then jacked his perfectly formed behind out of the window on the back of a stinger missile. Metaphorically of course.

The 'Gate technician whose name no-one really knows stepped up to Dr. Elizabeth Weir, commander of the Atlantis expedition. He stared at his feet nervously, before daring to speak. He noticed that her eyes were flinty and squeaked his first words before he could form a coherent sentence. "Dr. Weir...Ma'am...The...The Daedalus has arrived in orbit. Hermiod would like the co-ordinates of the intended target." Dr. Weir smiled a harsh, steely smile. She tapped her radio to alert the infirmary. "The second runner is on his way down, Carson. I'll be there in five minutes." Her heels clicked as she crossed the floor to the exits, whilst all around her, various technicians shrank back against the walls in a last-ditch effort to avoid the Wrath of Weir™. On the other hand, the betting pools would boom if they found out about this.

Radek Zelenka looked up from the device he was inspecting and debated whether to walk to Colonel Sheppard's quarters, or radio him down here. Deciding that he would find some coffee on the way to Sheppard's quarters, he stretched languorously before spinning his chair to face the door. His face brightened considerably at what he saw there: Lt. Col. Sheppard. "Colonel Sheppard!! Just the man I needed... Colonel?" He stared at the fatigued military man, deciding that calling Carson would be a really good idea. "Help me... Save me, Rade-" A blinding flash of light enveloped Sheppard, and when the spots had cleared, Radek could no longer see John.

Ronon studied Sheppard's path through Atlantis. His overall aim was good: find a scientist that could be used for ransom (at least, he thought Sheppard would do that), but his means of achieving that were poor. The ex-runner settled on the idea of teaching John the real essentials of escape and evasion. Silently he listened to the latest intelliganece over the radio, and headed to the most advantageous point to observe the problem. Utilising his myriad skills he evaded the city's scanners and crept towards the science labs, intent on… relieving the scientists of some tech he didn't think they really needed.

Radek Zelenka nervously radioed Dr. Weir. "Errr... Elizabeth... Colonel Sheppard was just beamed away by what appeared to be Asgard beaming technology." On the other end of the radio, he heard an evil laugh as Dr. Weir cackled maniacally. "Oh, I know. I...persuaded Hermiod to remove him to the infirmary." She let the full impact of the words sink in. A horror-stricken Radek replied, minutes later. "My God, you are an evil woman. How large are the betting pools on this one?" More maniacal laughter reverberated through the headset. "They're very big, Radek. And they're getting thirsty down there." He froze, already halfway out of the door. "I have no idea what you mean, Elizabeth. No, not a clue, not a single inkling-"

"Radek?"

"Yes?"

"I'm thirsty too." Dr. Zelenka let loose a massive sigh of relief. The illegal distilling operation may have been uncovered, but not abandoned. _The perks of Czechoslovakian ingenuity._

Teyla Emmagan pulled herself silently into the rafters as a security detail jogged around the corner holding Wraith stunners. She dropped, cat-quiet onto the floor and sprinted silently away towards the jumper bay, the designated egress point for their escape.

Major Lorne stood in the crowded crew before one of the many stalls hastily set up by the many would-be bookmakers. The scent of moonshine from Radek's illicit still filled his nose as he admired the range of odds and terms the gamblers could pick on. For example:

Confined to the infirmary for up to one (1) week: 12/1.

Chained to desk with padded restraints for three (3) days: 600/1.

Chained to desk with heavy, cast-iron chains for all eternity (∞): 20/1.

_Things aren't looking good for you, John. Not good. _A shout was taken up: "New information, new information- Colonel Sheppard just got beamed to the infirmary!" New odds went up, even some stuff about being shoved through the gate onto that planet which was briefly considered as a possible Alpha Site. Very, _very _briefly, due to the family of highly irate Tyrannosaurus Rex that just happened to dislike travellers. _Choices, choices, _he thought. _But hey, let the games begin. _Coins jingled in his pockets as he placed his bets.

Dr. Carson Beckett admired the selection of needles, syringes and spare booster vaccines he had accumulated. Despite the fact that the runners in question had no real need for booster shots, the doctor in him decided that there was very good reason to be careful in Peagasus. And besides, if Dr. Weir became angry with him...he shuddered, and turned his attention to more pressing matters: Rodney McKay and John Sheppard.

Against the backdrop of stars, Dr. Novak and Hermiod witnessed the transfer of John Sheppard to the Atlantis infirmary from the technical consoles of the Daedalus, as the Asgard beaming technology onboard displaced the condemned man to his doom at the hands of what was, in his eyes, the worst way to go: DEATH-by Maniacal Scottish Doctor.

Rodney McKay stared in terror as Carson Beckett walked in, followed closely by Dr. Elizabeth Weir. Flipping open a menacing looking case, he smirked slightly at hearing McKay's terrified squeak as he withdrew a needle and syringe. Elizabeth just glared at him coldly. "Dr. McKay, I think you have something that you want to tell us. _Don't you._" The last two words were delivered harshly, making Rodney whimper pitifully. "Really, there's nothing to tell. Nothing at all to be honest, just maybe a tiny smidgen of information that's of no real consequence-Hey, watch it with the needle, sheep-shearer, careful-I SAID WATCH WHERE YOUR STICKING THE-OW!"

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I accidentally was listening to the A-Team theme tune whilst staring at my Stargate Atlantis poster and decided that Ronon reminded me of Mr. T. As you may have noticed, madness ensued.


End file.
